


Born of Blood

by Hexes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Clever Bilbo Baggins, Cultural Differences, Demisexual Bilbo, Dwalin Is A Softie, Emotionally constipated characters, Fighting As Foreplay, Implied Past Trauma, Martial Arts Training, Multi, Other, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Sloppy Seconds, Timeline What Timeline, Triad - Freeform, gender non-conforming Bilbo, gender queer author, minor blood, out of character Thorin, porn heavy plot light, soulmate-identifying wounds, wet and messy, wildly self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29643477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: Dwalin seeks to teach Bilbo to defend himself in the wilds. A scratch gives him slight pause, a cut gives him insight. Thorin receives his own wound, and is confronted with the reality of Mahal's designs.... basically it's just porn with a Hobbity veneer >.>Un-beta'dSidebar: Not sure what category to put this in, because I didn't imagine Bilbo as a trans man, so much as a person that preferred to live in a masculine space. Few explicit descriptions of Bilbo's genitals were used in the making of this work.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Dwalin/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Born of Blood

They'd be travelling for a few weeks before Dwalin had decided to instruct the hobbit in the martial arts. While reasonably sure that the sly little creature could simply sneak out of any given trouble, Dwalin had felt that it made better tactical sense for the fussy little hobbit to at least be able to land a sound blow in addition to his light-footedness, than to leave the matter solely in the hands of the Valar. Thorin had scowled even more fiercely than usual but had subsided quickly enough, having grown used to his cousin's particular brand of bullheadedness. Ledgers were written, and bets placed, and the matter settled as best as could be done for the moment, and Dwalin had counted himself lucky. Foolishly, as the cased turned out to be. 

The first scratch only engenders passing notice. It's not common for a dwarf to suffer at the claws of beings so gentle in manner, but it's not completely unheard of. Though, Dwalin does raise his brow before being distracted, busy as they all were with their nightly chores. 

The second scratch comes during a sparring session. Bilbo squirms beneath him, trying to worm his way out of the powerful grip Dwalin has on him. Dwalin had reared up, intent on pinning the hobbit beneath his bulk, plump thighs slung wide and weak around his own, shoulders caught in his palms. But Bilbo had panicked. The sudden, unmistakable terror had caused everyone in the party to spring to alert, clearly thinking the threat could be met with force. Dwalin had pulled back, surprised and disquieted by the look on Bilbo's face. The little hobbit had lashed out, his nails cutting three long, bloody tracks across Dwalin's cheek. In the moment, Dwalin hadn't noticed, too worried about Bilbo, who'd escaped barely a pace away before he had collapsed and lain a moment, panting and gagging around his fear.

Dwalin had hung there, dumbstruck in the face of such obvious horror, quite unable to move, or even to think. He'd stayed, as still as he might, and prayed that his indecision did not cause further harm. The hobbit had eventually turned, and nodded, signalling Dwalin to continue, and the matter was put behind them.

At least, until Balín had seen the marks on Dwalin's face and sucked a quick gasp through his prodigious nose. His elder brother had cleared his throat politely, and handed Dwalin a kerchief, mumbling about propriety. Dwalin hadn't realised until he was cleaning away the mess just how much there was. He was also surprised that Bilbo hadn't said anything about it, and was suspicious to find the hobbit acting as though nothing might be the matter, pointedly avoiding to say anything about it. 

Thorin, on the other hand, couldn't seem to shut up. He had glared at the mark, the maker, and then, most fiercely, at its bearer. He'd carried on for days before the matter finally came to a boil. 

" _Some_ subtlety would not go amiss," he'd growled. And Dwalin felt the sudden and incredibly intense urge to punch his cousin in the nose. He contained himself solely because he had no desire to explain the situation to any curious parties. 

"It's not as if he knows what it means," Dwalin had thrown back. The wound, as was the case for proper dwarven courting, had only barely begun to knit, and it was exceptionally sore, being on his cheek at it was. He found it to sour his mood, and he grumbled bitterly as he set about his chores. 

"Perhaps, then, it would be prudent to _tell_ him," Thorin had countered, still haughty even when offering sound council. Dwalin had waved a dismissive hand and mumbled that it couldn't possibly the case that Bilbo had meant to invoke a rite, nor could it be that Mahal would bind the two of them together. Balín cleared his throat,

"It may be the case the bond was simply Battle-forged," he'd offered, both trying to satisfy their king and soothe his brother's ire. 

"Hardly think a tussle in the dirt is battle," Dwalin responded, pressing a poultice to his face. It smelled somewhat foul, but it helped with the pain. He winced at the dark look his brother had about him. 

"I don't claim to know the whims of the Valar," Balín had sniffed. Dwalin, chastened, had subsided and went to sit by the burglar, though he kept his peace about the scratch, and Bilbo had only blushed when his eyes had caught the mark. 

Dwalin had continued to use the nasty poultice, and Bilbo had gone about, continuing to politely refuse to acknowledge the scratch, aside from to duck his head shyly when it became too difficult to ignore. Battle-forged or no, it was becoming clear to Dwalin that his time with the burglar meant more to the Valar than they knew. 

They carried on, journeying and resting when they could. Bilbo taught the striplings all he could of plantlore, indulging even the most ridiculous of questions with the aplomb of a seasoned teacher. In the evenings they would spar for as long as they might, keeping the light and a steady pace. Thorin had acquiesced to assist but one time, grumbling all the while. Certainly, Bilbo was improving in ability, becoming quite deft at escaping a number of holds, though Dwalin's scratches were remaining stubbornly unhealed. The little wounds stood brazen, livid and tender on his face and wrist, even despite Oín's most odiferous treatments. There was another, still, on his shoulder where Bilbo had clutched desperately, trying to avoid a tumble, his usually sure feet confounded by the terrain. A set of bruises graced one bicep, four little pinpricks of annoyance that ached whenever he put himself to too strong a use.

Dwalin had taken this all in stride in that he agreed wholeheartedly with Bilbo's solution of pointedly ignoring the problem. Thorin, however, had grown increasingly exasperated, as had Balín, both worried by the open wounds despite Oín's assurances. But Dwalin continued, waving away concern, and dancing on the knife's edge of blasphemy, convinced that the marks were a fluke of some sort. 

Though the next wound was significantly more painful, Dwalin decided. They had been tussling, teaching the burglar how to escape an enemy holding him from behind. Dwalin had put his hand to Bilbo's mouth while exercising the hold, covering the soft flesh, thumb and forefinger caught under plump cheeks. Again, Bilbo had frozen, his body suddenly hard with terror. Dwalin had only the space of a thought to notice the change before sharp teeth had set into the web of his hand and cut viciously. Dwalin had shouted, surprised by the pain, jerking away as he swore a very nasty oath. Bilbo had fallen to his knees, gore smeared on his mouth as Thorin had leapt to aid his friend. 

"Perhaps," Bilbo heaved, swaying where he knelt, "we should leave this for the day?" Thorin had stared, stricken by the sight. Bilbo, panting, flushed, his lips red as his eyes glowed. Dwalin snorted a denial and quickly volunteered his liege to take over while he sought Oín. Thorin's thunderous look was well worth a bit of blood Dwalin thought, tossing a wink at his cousin before leaving to find the healer. 

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Bilbo offered, rising and dusting down his trousers. He ran his tongue over his tacky lips and grimaced, wiping away the blood with his small fingers. He seemed both entranced and revolted by the sight of blood on his hand, blinking owlishly at it. 

"Be that as it may," Thorin sighed, "it is a skill that must be honed." He moved to stand fully before the hobbit, "though," he tried for a levity he did not feel, "I shall keep my hands well away from your face." Unfortunately, though, Bilbo only flushed deeply, looking away, and seemed to shrink in upon himself. 

"It was not my intention to hurt one of our best warriors," he mumbled, looking at the smear of blood on his hand, "certainly not again..." he had noticed, of course, that the scratches on Dwalin's cheek seemed to refuse to heal, staying livid against his flesh. 

"He ought to have known better, seasoned as he is." Comforting others was not a skill that Thorin had developed, and he was beyond his depth. "Even the most seemingly innocuous of enemies can be equipped in ways that we do not expect," he paused, squinting a moment, "... though, teeth are a common threat." He flicked his eyes around the camp, and glared at Dwalin where he spoke with their exasperated healer, looking far too jovial for Thorin's taste. Bilbo cleared his throat. 

"Yes, well..." He trailed away, casting about for some excuse that would relieve him of this duty. Finding none, he sighed. "I suppose you're right." He mumbled something that sounded very much like "as usual..." but Thorin let the impertinence slide, as the hobbit was, as yet, regaining his wits. 

"How shall we proceed?" Bilbo asked, putting on his best business manner. Truthfully, he wanted to apologise to Dwalin, but Thorin was obviously not intending to let the matter go, and if there was one thing that Bilbo had learned thus far, it was that Thorin was _far_ more stubborn than he. A feat, to be certain, but one that Thorin managed with irritating ease. 

"I shall be behind you," Thorin said clearly, moving only after Bilbo had nodded sharply, sucking air through his nose. He took his position behind the smaller figure, wondering suddenly at how so slight a being had managed to injure his cousin multiple times. "I will pull you against me, my arm around your neck, elbow at your throat," he stepped forward, trying to be as gentle as he could, unwilling to risk Bilbo's wrathful fear. "Though, I will not touch your face." He finished, sliding first one arm around the hobbit's neck, and then bringing the other hand to support his opposite wrist. He pulled experimentally, as gently as he could. 

"Tuck your chin down against my forearm, and bring your hands to my elbow and wrist," he waited for Bilbo to assume the position, his head tilted down into the meat of Thorin's arm, one small hand nestled to each joint "good," he praised, trying to encourage his student. 

"Now, take your far leg, and step outside of mine," Bilbo responded more quickly, this time. "Drop the hand holding my wrist to strike at the groin," Bilbo glanced back, uncertain. "Slowly," Thorin amended, "we are only learning." Bilbo shuddered but moved as instructed. Thorin leaned down, as though struck, "now you drive your elbow up, with the intent of striking under the chin," Bilbo complied, the motion smooth, though clearly unsure. "Just like that," the dwarf praised. "The fourth step being to slip from under my grasp, and escape." Bilbo ducked, surprisingly wily for his reticence, turning to look at the dwarven king, a question in his eyes. 

"Again," Thorin stood at his full height, "faster." He waited for Bilbo to nod before resuming his position. 

"One," Thorin commanded, and Bilbo's hands flew to brace against Thorin's arm, "two," Bilbo's stance opened, his shorter legs surprisingly well suited to this lesson, "three," his hand dropped away from Thorin's wrist, landing a soft strike to Thorin's upper thigh, the dwarf curling over him, "four," Bilbo's elbow came to tap under his chin, "five," Bilbo slipped down, spinning away from Thorin. The dwarf nodded in approval. "Again." Bilbo nodded in return. "Faster." The hobbit had hesitated only a thought before moving to position. Thorin privately approved of the progress they'd achieved. 

They carried on, slowly approaching speed. Thorin pleased with Bilbo's compliance and progress. The hobbit himself seemed to be acclimating, becoming more confident in the movements. Thorin nodded in approval, pleased in spite of himself. He pulled slightly more tightly against the hobbit and felt a sting in response. 

Staring down at the cuts on his wrist, he thought, perhaps, he should have told the hobbit that he had intended to apply more force before doing so. Bilbo didn't seem to notice the damage, however, completing the motions as instructed, and coming to stand in readiness. Thorin quickly shook his sleeve down to cover the marks, nodding politely. 

"We will continue lessons tomorrow," he allowed, noting that Bilbo had seen the motion, and was suspicious of the sudden halt to their lesson. "We need to gather wood for the fire," Bilbo nodded slowly, as yet unconvinced, "else we must eat a cold supper." Thorin tacked on, hoping to distract the hobbit with food. It seemed to have worked, as Bilbo sighed wistfully and moved to the assigned task. Thorin stared after him, the light burning on his wrist seeming like an inferno. 

"Fuck." Thorin whispered, feeling the weight of tradition settling firmly on his shoulders. He turned to find Balín, lamenting the unending mess that his life seemed to be. Thorin was certain that he'd never hear the end of this from Dwalin. 

Dwalin's scratches seemed to lessen, the more time he spent in Bilbo's company, and the hobbit found himself less averse to acknowledging them as time passed. The dwarf was actually quite amiable, Bilbo found. Gruff and growling certainly, but he had a sharp mind and dry, biting wit that Bilbo found absurdly endearing. He thought, perhaps, that Dwalin went out of his way to make Bilbo laugh, and he was deeply grateful for it, especially in light of the fact that Thorin seemed to be gravitating toward them with increasing frequency, though he remained dour and pontificating.

In a fit of pique during a lesson, Bilbo snapped that Thorin was a blathering windbag, and while he regretted his words immediately, Dwalin nearly howled with laughter and Thorin looked so thoroughly gobsmacked that Bilbo couldn't help but choke down a chuckle, himself. Indeed, even the rest of the elder dwarrow seemed well-pleased by the hobbit's pluck. 

Unfortunate snapping aside, the lessons continued and Bilbo was a quick study, often surprising the dwarrow with his swift, quiet feet. When they finally progressed to Bilbo being on the offensive, he felt not only confident in himself but a stirring of romance toward his teachers. Dwalin's pleased guffawing and Thorin's quiet nods of approval were pulling him from deep within himself, where he had hidden for many years. He was unsure if it was more than a passing crush, but felt his curiosity piqued, and was warmed by the thought of the ease he had cultivated with those around him, letting his biting tongue lash out in friendship as well as remand. Bilbo smiled into his stew as Thorin and Dwalin argued - in what they no doubt thought were very hushed tones - about the trajectory of Bilbo's training. 

They had been tussling for some time, now, Thorin looking on and giving instruction from the sidelines. Bilbo had swept Dwalin's feet from underneath him, and while he wasn't certain that the dwarf hadn't allowed the move, he felt a brilliant fissure of triumph and warmth zip along his spine, stilling him for just a moment too long. Dwalin took the opportunity to roll over the top of the hobbit, trapping him loosely beneath his massive frame. Dwalin's thigh was nestled between Bilbo's, his breath coming only slightly faster, his pulse still war-drum steady as he hovered above the hobbit. Dwalin nearly purred, and Bilbo swore he could feel it vibrate through his body, caressing him with the rolling sound of it. 

Bilbo gasped, his sex suddenly throbbing in need. He rolled his hips experimentally, testing Dwalin's response to the overture. The dwarf growled, deep in his chest, eyes sharpening on Bilbo's flushed face. He wanted to reciprocate. Desperately, so. But he stayed himself, thinking of the times Bilbo had frozen, lashed out, gasped and panted, eyes screwed shut against some unseen foe that assaulted him. The hobbit smiled, soft and inviting, his hips tilting up as his head fell back, his neck exposed to his dwarven companion. 

"Yes," Biblo had sighed, airy and needy, so quiet it might have been nothing but a thought. The sound exploded through Dwalin's core like a thunderclap. He fell upon his little hobbit like a storm, kissing, licking, nibbling. Gorging himself on salty skin and sweet cries. Dwalin had been certain that Bilbo would be a shy, quiet lover. He was astounded and gratified to learn otherwise. 

The hobbit moaned throatily when his ears were caressed, cried out when Dwalin grabbed his plush rump, yanking him up into his lap as he rocked back to sit on his heels. Bilbo whined for more kisses, though gasping for air. Dwalin was reasonably sure that all Arda would soon know of their passion, never mind the Company. He spared a brief - and fleeting - thanks to the Valar that Gandalf had absented himself to some errand or another, and so the fatherly old man wasn't around to witness this. 

Bilbo yanked at laces, pulled at Dwalin's beard and hair, his hands seemingly everywhere as he both tried to undress his lover and touch every scant inch of skin he could find. Dwalin fared no better, confounded by the absurd surfeit of buttons on every bloody piece of clothing Bilbo wore. He thought to simply tear them away, but retained only barely enough presence of mind to realise that would both infuriate the little creature, and that Bilbo had an unsurpassed ability to hurt him should he so choose. A breathy giggle greeted his curse as he failed to slide a button loose. Bilbo's clever fingers made quick work of the fastenings, though leaving the clothing to be stripped by Dwalin's ravenous hands. 

"Pretty," Dwalin growled, stooping quickly to suck a nipple between his lips, teeth scraping gently over the tightened flesh. Bilbo's hands flew to Dwalin's hair, clutching desperately as he pushed his chest up, seeking more of his lover's agile mouth. Dwalin surged forward, laying his lover back against the ground, licking greedily at the soft skin of Bilbo's neck. 

"Clothes," Bilbo gasped in response, "off." He began to heave at Dwalin's gambeson, shoving the thick material every which way. 

"Demanding," Dwalin smirked, rearing back to slip off the light armour, making quick work of his unlaced tunic while there. He reached down, yanking Bilbo's vest away with his shirt in one efficient movement, leaving the garments strewn beneath the hobbit's smooth back. 

"Yes, well," Bilbo huffed as Dwalin dropped back down, running his tongue over the furl of one ear while he toed at his boots, making marginal headway at removing them without abandoning his lover's silky skin. Small hands worked dextrously to shove down Dwalin's britches and smalls before turning to attend to his own remaining clothes, his stature letting him manoeuver deftly around Dwalin's bulk. "I have been waiting rather a long time." Bilbo's breathy admission made Dwalin's head burn. 

Dwalin had thought to question that but forgot how to form words as Bilbo's fingers closed around his arousal. Perhaps, he had been waiting a long time, too. He rutted against the grip, both fiercely desired, and far too little a repast. 

"How do you want me," he asked, leaning back to look Bilbo in the eye. He would give their burglar whatever he asked, all he needed was leave. The hobbit grinned wickedly, using his grip to position Dwalin's length where he wanted it.

"Here," Bilbo purred, eyes shining with mischief and want. Dwalin gasped at the feel of soft, wet lips against the tip of cock, gently kissing. He glanced down quickly, amazed at the sight. A riot of curls thatched heavily between plush thighs. Dwalin hadn't expected such, but couldn't find it in himself to be more than passing curious, not when the promise of Bilbo's pleasure was so close. He groaned, sinking forward, his eyes crossing before clenching. 

Bilbo was forge-hot, slick, smooth, and damnably strong. The muscles fluttered and sucked at his length, inexorable. 

"Cor," he breathed the oath, overwhelmed by the sensation. Dwalin had indulged in lovers previously, quick trysts or longer arrangements, but none that he had desired as he did Bilbo, and, he was convinced, none as tight or adept at controlling themselves as the hobbit. "You will undo me," he gasped, as Bilbo squeezed him, slick nectar beginning to smear over their thighs.

"That is rather the point," Bilbo allowed, rolling his hips impatiently. The movement was short, trapped as he was by Dwalin's massive bulk, and he keened in irritation at the lack of movement. "You oaf," he gasped, shimmying, "move!"

Dealing chuckled, rearing back onto his haunches, pulling his lover up astride his lap. "At your service," and yanked Bilbo down to meet the thrust of his hips. Bilbo cried out, his hands flying to steady himself on Dwalin's broad shoulders, choking on his need as Dwalin set a punishing pace. 

"There," Bilbo whined, "there, there, there, yes..." He trailed away into a moan, taking the brutal rutting with glee. "By the stars," he gasped, sliding a hand down to where they were joined, his sex sopping and stretched around Dwalin's thick length. Dwalin groaned, the feel of soft, clever fingers nearly bringing him to completion. Bilbo moved away quickly, sliding his fingers up to the apex of his lips, teasing his sensitive nub, his back arching as he worked to bring himself to his peak. He keened as Dwalin pulled him down, grinding the head of his cock against the mouth of the hobbit's womb, staring in amazement as Bilbo rushed toward the precipice and fell into his release, his lower lip crushed between his teeth. Bilbo lolled his head forward, lax with pleasure as he glanced over Dwalin's shoulder, catching Thorin's blazing gaze for a moment, before looking back to his lover, flushed and glistening with sweat. 

"Don't you dare stop," Bilbo breathed, his eyes glassy, "don't stop," he rolled his hips, "don't stop, don't st-" he shrieked when Dwalin jerked them back to motion, the wet sound of sex echoing around them as he sought his own end, Bilbo whining and begging for more, there, right there, please. Bilbo was clearly headed to some peak that Dwalin could not see, but nor could he contain himself, the scalding, soaking heat tearing away his control. 

"Can't last," he growled, "too good." He pulled Bilbo tightly against himself, struck mute by the power of his release. He flooded the little hobbit, his seed deep within Bilbo's depths, shuddering and jerking as pleasure coursed through him like a storm. "So good," he gasped, his head falling forward to rest on Bilbo's slight shoulder. He stayed as long as he could, Bilbo's whining and rocking keeping him hard for longer than he thought possible. Bilbo gasped, mournful as Dwalin pulled away.

"I am not yet done," he clutched at Dwalin's beard, "not yet, please, so close-" he broke off with a whine as Dwalin slipped his spent length from the hobbit's wet heat, apologetic. 

"Satisfaction will find you," Dwalin promised. Though his pride ached to leave his lover unfulfilled, he knew his limits, "should you wish it." He collapsed back, bringing Bilbo to rest on his chest, tossing a curious glance backwards, toward his cousin. 

"Yes, damn it!" Bilbo's voice was raspy with both arousal and frustration. "Over here," he demanded, looking Thorin in the eye. Thorin jerked at the command, eyes dark as he came forward slipping off his hauberk to land on the forest floor, the sound echoing with strange finality. His tunic hung open in short order baring his chest to his burglar, the laces of his britches falling open as he knelt. 

"How would you have me?" Thorin ran his hand down Bilbo's heaving back, over the silky skin of the hobbit's rump, entranced by the sight of his cousin's seed dripping from the wet lips of Bilbo's need. Next time, he resolved, he would be the first to give his burglar release. 

"Don't care," Bilbo whined over his shoulder, eyes blazing as he caught Thorin's gaze, "just make it happen!" He rocked back, tilting his hips up, and the scent nearly knocked Thorin to the ground, heady and richer than any he had previously had. Thorin hummed, slipping out of his tunic and laying it on the ground to protect the hobbit's knees. He pulled Bilbo back by his plush hips to kneel on the fabric between Dwalin's thighs, his front pressed along the other dwarf's chest. 

"As you command," Thorin let humour colour his response, releasing his length from his britches and smalls, sighing at the feel of his own callused fingers on his arousal, "my burglar." Thorin shuffled, bringing himself low enough to enter his new lover, fighting the urge to close his eyes against the beautiful sight of himself sinking forward, shaken to his core by the slick, hot feel of the hobbit's sweet sex. 

"I fear I must agree with Dwalin," he withdrew, rocking forward again, "you will undo me..." He held tight to Bilbo's hips, warm and soft in his hands, strangely small, though enchanting for it. 

"Move!" Bilbo demanded again, fighting against Thorin's grip, trying to push himself back, to quicken their rhythm. "Now!"

"I would have thought a thief to have more patience," though Thorin found himself compelled to comply with the command, adding power to his movements, the wet sounds of their coupling rendering him insensible. Bilbo growled an inarticulate response, one hand tangled in Dwalin's beard as the dwarf purred, the other flailing back to clutch desperately at Thorin's wrist. 

Thorin rocked forward, titling himself to find his lover's need, greedy for the same whining praise that Bilbo had granted his cousin. He glanced down, enflamed beyond propriety at the sight of his length, glistening with Dwalin's seed and Bilbo's slick desire, and snarled an oath, his delicacy abandoning him. 

Bilbo shrieked, cutting a new line of brilliant red scratches along Dwalin's shoulder, carving crescents into Thorin's wrist, the bright copper scent of blood exploding forth to complement the rich smell of sex cloaking them. 

"There! There, there, yes, there, don't stop-" he trailed away, sinking teeth into the meat of Dwalin's chest as the scratches on his shoulder healed, a softly glittering gold. Thorin, wild with it, now began to lose his timing, chasing his own peak, unfettered from ensuring his lover's needs. He knew that the cuts on his own wrist would heal, and glowing all the more brightly when his love was near. His thighs burned, his heart thundering in his chest as he grasped for his completion. Dwalin caught his gaze, a sharp, roiling emotion burning in his eyes. Slowly he reached up, tucking a loose braid behind Thorin's ear. So simple a touch, and yet, it undid him. His crisis crashed over him, screwing his eyes shut as sparks danced over his skin as his vision blanked. 

Thorin lurched forward, only just catching himself on Dwalin's shoulders, their little burglar nestled between their forge-hot bodies. He brushed a kiss over the riot of golden curls that crowned Bilbo's head. Further he leaned, his hair spreading like spilt ink over shoulders and necks as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Bilbo's nape, licking away bitter salt sweat. 

Gently as he could, he slipped from Bilbo's depths, groaning as Bilbo curled a small, self-satisfied smile up at him, one glittering labradorite eye cracked open to watch as Thorin took a deep, scenting inhale, revelling in their combined musk on his tongue. 

They would have to discuss this. Reveal a deep, well-guarded secret to the hobbit, bless him with their marks. Perhaps their names in Runes, glittering gold against the glowing skin of his inner forearms, heralding their claim. Their divine love. They would persevere, they would overcome. Thorin hummed softly, running his lips along Bilbo's shoulder, marvelling at the quietude that struck up in his soul, the likes of which he'd never thought possible. 

"We will triumph." Thorin's voice sounded soft to his own ears, the answering rumble from deep within Dwalin's chest bringing forth an easy, contented sigh from Bilbo. He would ensure their success. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. This fell out of my fingers in like a week??? That never happens?!  
> Anyway! Comments and kudos give me dopamine 🥺  
> I'll proofread this sometime later.  
> Health, wealth, and happiness, y'all. Stay safe!


End file.
